Light, a Series
by MissMahjong
Summary: A four part series involving ambient moments and light, told in the perspective of Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade. Johnlock, Mystrade, slash.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

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~ Artificial Light

Sherlock's Point of View

The consistent patterned beeping is both reassuring and nerve wracking and it's in these moments where I loathe being human. John is in hospital, he was shot in his right hip, going into surgery to remove the bullet, and any bullet shards, he's now recovering but he hasn't woken up and my heart aches for comfort, for some type of sign that he's going to be alright. Most people think I don't have a heart and they're right to a certain degree, when involved in my work, no heart is necessary, only my mind. However, John has my heart and this time, with him being shot and lying there, on that hospital bed, so still with the exception of breathing, my heart got involved.

We are not suppose to be here, we are suppose to be back at the flat, talking over tea, watching crap telly on the couch, or intertwined on the bed, maybe even chasing after another case, not here, in this sterile room, far too clean, too public and foreboding. It's rooms like this where life both begins and ends but at the moment it matches my cynical mood, it's dark with only the dim night-light on and the window shades to the hallway shut. It's late as I sit here, by his side, just watching, waiting; the chair I'm sitting on offering no comfort compared the chairs and sofa at home, where we should be, not here, not this place. The hospital gown and the sheets covering John look so wrong, so cold compared to John's usual warmth.

I can't sit here, this entire place offers no comfort, I have no problems with hospitals but with John in here, I dread this place, he needs to wake up, we need to leave. I get up, from the chair and join John, my John, on the bed, being so slender I only need so little room but he looks so small. I know John is short but he seems really petite now, in this state. I suppose I'm used to his personality being lager than he is, such fire and passion, making him appear taller. Watching him sleep back home in bed, he never looked so small, but at home I know he's safe, not recovering from a gunshot. I curl around him, trying my best not to disturb him, matching my head to his level, leaving my feet to dangle off the bed. He looks so pale, it's all wrong, so very wrong, I don't like him here, I don't want him here, this place is too cold. His breathing is all that matters but I wish he would wake up soon, I want to hear his groggy voice, I need to see his tired eyes open, I have to see him offer me a comforting smile. John, you fool, why would you take the bullet, it should have been me?

I notice his eyes flicker, but they don't open, he looks tired, worn, battle ridden; if I wanted to, I could count every pore on his face from my current position, to his left. My hands cradling his left callous and dry hand, mindful to not bother him. I want to though, bother him, disrupt his sleep, anything to get a reaction, a response. The temptation to scream, just to see if he wakes up, is high but I don't and I won't, he wouldn't appreciate the sudden scare, taking the bullet was enough.

"Wake up John, come back to me." I whisper in his ear.

I kiss his temple tenderly, glad that his skin is warm but I'd prefer him to respond with a kiss in return. I don't tell him that I love him nearly enough but I show him that I do love him, and I do. Our relationship isn't your typical relationship, it can't be planned out or predicted but we have genuine affection for each other, no matter how unorthodox it's expressed, it's true, raw and startlingly precious. I leaned my head down slightly, near his neck and shoulder, breathing him in, feeling the gentle throbbing of his pulse and listening to his light snoring, I doze off.

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I don't know how much time has passed but it's still dark and I'm suddenly awake, a groan from John raised me from sleep. I level my head to see his face and his eyes are flickering again, he's moving a bit, becoming aware, I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, it's enough to remove the last remnants of sleep fog from me. His eyes open gradually, blinking, trying to focus and remember what happened, I lean up a bit, getting into his field of vision and he looks so tired and confused.

"Sher..lock?"

"Shh." I shush him with a kiss to lips before giving his entire face soft kisses; I go back to lying down beside him.

"I'm glad you're awake."

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**Author's Note:** This is part one of a four part series, inspired by ambient moments and light, review if you want.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

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~ Moon Light

John's Point of View

He needs this, I don't care if it is only for two days, he needs the vacation, the rest. Sherlock's been running on catnaps, coffee and biscuits lately, trying to solve our last case. It's not healthy for him, I worry, especially since he nearly passed out at the crime scene, it was then we agreed that he needs the time off to catch up on sleep. It's nighttime, only the moonlight to illuminate the dark room, but it only reaches our temporary bed by the window. We're currently in the countryside, in a cozy bed and breakfast, enjoying the environment but mostly having Sherlock rest, which is a feat in itself. The horizontal shadow pattern of open shades can't disturb the peaceful beauty that is Sherlock's face; he looks so ordinary and yet extraordinary, nearly ethereal.

I'm leaning on my left side, positioned to his right on the bed, just watching him sleep, the few times when he's not being a complete prat. His gentle breathing with the occasional snore, the rise and fall of his shirt clad chest, his face turned towards my direction and I'm just glad he's finally in a deep restful sleep. The dark rings around his eyes are fading with all the sleep I'm making him catch up on and he, although reluctantly, listens. If I were to take a picture of Sherlock now and show it to anybody, they would not believe that this man would happen to know the different types of spider venom from South America and the type of spider it's from; according to Sherlock the list of South American Spiders is growing. I lean over him, careful not to wake him up as I run my right hand through those thick curls on his head, still watching him, he moves slightly but remains asleep.

Under those eye lids lie ice blue eyes that see and deduce everything and yet those same eyes can express emotions that Sherlock keeps well hidden, or so he thinks, I know how to read him. And I'm glad that I'm the only one that can read him so easily, content to know the tell signs of his moods, I may not know how his brain functions but I know how, he, Sherlock functions and that's enough for me. Sherlock isn't just his mind, his body isn't just transport, for me, Sherlock is the entire being, the physical human that I love to hug, kiss and make love to. He's so much more to me than just an intelligent brain; he's my friend, my lover, my world.

I lean down to kiss him at the corner of his mouth, his skin is cool but not cold, his eye lids flutter but remain closed, I can't help but marvel at his features. It's the little features that I adore the most, his eye lashes, like soft bristles, little moles above his left eye and on his neck, the small barely noticeable scar on his bottom lip.

He's a danger to himself, he needs me, even if he doesn't admit it out loud but it's acknowledged and I know I need him. This last case had nearly abused Sherlock's mind, the criminal being the genius level of Moriarty but lacked the connections, he knew how to intrigue Sherlock though, feeding him puzzles, clues, taking them away and sending Sherlock after another puzzle, the cased almost consumed him and would've if I didn't step in.

He just snorted in his sleep, turning his head the other way and I held my giggle, it's funny to watch him so unguarded, open but I value his trust in me. Our love is on a high level but our trust is on an even higher level and I would not and will not betray that for all the treasures in the world. I can feel myself smiling like a twat but it's true, I cherish his trust in me and I'll do anything to protect him, even from him self. Sherlock, my Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective, intelligent man, brilliant git sometimes, and he's sleeping, finally letting his mind rest too. I maneuver myself slowly, quietly, lying down close to him, at his side, my right arm over his torso; I nestle into him.

He smells like the herbal soap he bathed with, after much protesting, I convinced him to take a bath with the soap; the label said it had special sleeping properties to give the bather an easy sleep, Sherlock scoffed at the label. Had him add candles to the bath, he said that was going too far until I gave him an incentive, I was going to join him in the bath, he gave in and lit the candles him self. The bath was fun, but I only had one purpose for joining him, to help ease his sore muscles with a massage, adding to the soap in relaxing him. It's warm by side and I close my eyes, drowsiness settling over me like a comforting sheet and I'm sleeping too.

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**Author's Note:** I hope you can see a theme here, review if you want.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

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~ Grey Light

Mycroft's Point of View

We have a bed to sleep on and yet he kips on the couch.

"Gregory Lestrade, what ever will I do with you?" I whisper softly, gazing at him with affectionate eyes. Today is one of those gloomy days, the windows curtains are pulled to the side, revealing dark skies, grey clouds full of rain as I stand over him, observing. He is a cheeky git, always making innuendo-like comments and such, heaven forbid his humour should I decide to let him meet Mummy.

It's amusing to watch him sleep, especially today, considering the weather and his hair color being so similar, one would think that Greg is a chameleon. The wallpaper of this room is enough to bore people and drown Greg in camouflage but he is in contrast and stands out. The couch he's sleeping on is comfortable black suede and plush, his body at an angle with his arms crossed, bringing warmth to his person and a couch pillow under his head, which reminds me.

I left to get a throw blanket and placed it on my sleeping beauty, he stirred but didn't wake up and I knelt down on my knees to get a closer look at his sleeping face. He looks so young, boyish, even though we are close in age, he's just so serene at the moment and I know he sorely needs it. His cases are never easy, well, no case is but the stress that comes with it doesn't help him, nor does the assistance of my baby brother's attitude towards the yard but it's his passion.

His skin is so tanned compared to mine and it may not appear so but it's soft as well. I make myself comfortable on the floor, which would be quite out of character should anyone else walk in but we're home now and these walls, plain and dull as they might be, will never whisper our secret loving endeavours. Leaning in close to him, not disturbing his rest and with my right hand I stroke his hair, indulging in the fluff feeling of the strands, he's always soaking his hair in that atrocious gel. I love his hair though, the grey and white strands with the generous sprinkling of silver that shine when in the right light, it's fun to watch his hair right itself when my hand passes over.

I honestly don't know what this man saw in me or how he managed to fall in love with me but I sincerely glad he did. The divorce from his wife wasn't simple and he only gets to see his kids every other weekend, this wasn't one of those weekends. I've met his children, granted I'm not entirely paternal with kids but they're nice, polite children, although a bit wary due to the fact that their father has a boyfriend in stead of a girlfriend but I don't plan of being the awful stepfather, I'm just not sure on how to relate to them. Greg loves his kids and I admire that, talking about them when he hears from them and they're recreational activities, the boy, Andrew, is in football and the girl, Sophia, is a pianist with a recital coming up. I'm not joking when I say I don't know how to act around them, it would be easier to buy them gifts and such but Greg said no, I can't buy their love; they are good though and occasionally, they receive small gifts for their achievements, it's a secret from the currently sleeping man and it helps me build trust with his children. I lean in to kiss his forehead gently and I'm just happy for to forget all of my responsibilities to Queen and country for the moment and just watch him. His stubble is growing out, the same colour as his hair, he'll shave it off but it would be intriguing if he let it grow, of course as I imagine it, the image is absurd and it's best if he didn't grow it out.

"Should I be worried about you watching me sleep?"

Jesus H Fucking Christ, he scared me, I didn't know he was awake, when did that happen? The handsome git had the nerve to laugh at my startled expression with his relaxed smile lighting up his face.

"When did you wake up?" I asked, my fingers still in his hair.

"Felt yours eyes on me, then I felt you kiss my head, nice way to wake up, although receiving a blow job would have been better."

Faster than he can expect and react, I pull the pillow from under his head and playfully smack him a few times with it.

"Oi!" he shouts.

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**Author's Note:** It's done and it was difficult to get inside Mycroft's head and imagine what kind of relationship he would have with Lestrade, review if you want.


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